


with her would I fly

by MickyRC



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Fluff, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Inspired by Poetry, Literal Sleeping Together, Poetry, honest to god this might be the softest thing I've ever written, it really is Just Soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24468247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickyRC/pseuds/MickyRC
Summary: Crowley curled up a little tighter, nuzzling her cheek into Aziraphale’s tummy and purring when her fingers dipped into the nook behind her ear.  They’d been there for hours already, slowly working through a bottle of wine while Crowley slowly melted into her wife’s side.It's just a quiet night, cuddled together on the couch, and Aziraphale's found a poem that reminds her of Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: Adversarial Anniversary Celebration





	with her would I fly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marleenam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marleenam/gifts).



> There's maybe not as much dumb in here as requested, but I'm hoping the excessive soft makes up for it xD
> 
> The poem in here is "To an Isle in the Water" by W.B. Yeats. It's been bouncing around in my head for about 2 months now, and I _finally_ got it out. Thank you to Jace for beta reading!

A soft sigh. The crinkle of a turning page. A warm, soft lap under her head.

It was, dare she say it, the perfect evening.

Crowley curled up a little tighter, nuzzling her cheek into Aziraphale’s tummy and purring when her fingers dipped into the nook behind her ear. They’d been there for hours already, slowly working through a bottle of wine while Crowley slowly melted into her wife’s side. Now they were well and truly settled in, legs tangled together under a throw blanket of mysterious origin, Crowley snuggled in on top of Aziraphale and drifting in and out of a gentle doze while the angel worked her way through a stack of books and hummed and sighed and pet Crowley’s hair. Every so often a line of text would catch Aziraphale’s eye, and she’d shift in her seat, dislodging Crowley from her warm, cozy spot. Whenever that happened, Crowley would whine and cling, less because she was upset and much more because it made Aziraphale coo softley to her and press kisses to her hair.

“Shh, darling,” she murmured in Crowley’s ear. “Go back to sleep, love, I’m not going anywhere.”

Sleepy with warmth and wine and love, Crowley would hum back and settle in again. And if she was holding Aziraphale’s shirt a little tighter, well, there was nobody there to notice, anyway. Nobody who mattered.

Aziraphale sighed happily and curled her free hand over Crowley’s slim shoulders. The extra pressure dampened the last bits of restlessness in the demon’s body, pulling her in, pulling her down, and settling her into her body better than anything else ever had.

A soft gasp and the flutter of a hand flapping near her head had Crowley’s eyes slipping open. She didn’t want to move for fear of losing her perfect position, so she only lifted her chin enough to catch a glimpse of the angel’s face. The lamp on the table over her shoulder had just enough glow to shine through Aziraphale’s pale curls. They were rumpled and frizzy and Crowley was  _ convinced _ the cut wasn’t quite straight along her shoulders, but the demon was absolutely enraptured by the sight. She couldn’t help it. She dislodged an arm from under her chest and reached up to push a stray lock behind Aziraphale’s ear, making her look up from her book in surprise. Her face melted into a smile, and she caught Crowley’s hand before the demon could draw it back, turning it over to kiss over her knuckles with a softness that set Crowley’s heart pounding. She stared up in wonder as Aziraphale tugged her hand over and around, pressing her lips to Crowley’s fingers, her palm, the inside of her wrist. Crowley’s breath caught, her eyes gone wide and totally yellow. Then she yelped and yanked her hand back, rubbing at the side of her wrist where Aziraphale had nipped unexpectedly.

_ “Bastard,” _ she hissed, clutching her hand and glaring at her wife.

Aziraphale grinned right back. “Sweetheart,” she cooed teasingly, and expertly ducked Crowley’s halfhearted swat.

“Did you find something good?” Crowley asked, making sure Aziraphale saw her pout as she curled down again.

“Mmm, yes. I think I did.”

When nothing more was forthcoming, Crowley gave Aziraphale’s tummy a light poke, making the angel squeal and smack her hand away. Crowley pouted further. “You gonna  _ tell _ me?”

“It’s a poem.” The testiness in Aziraphale’s voice faded as she turned her attention back to the book in her hand. “It reminded me of you.”

“Ew,” Crowley yawned.

“Stop that. It’s a  _ lovely _ little poem.”

“Hmm. Read it to me.”

Even with her eyes closed, Crowley could feel Aziraphale start. “...sorry?”

“Read it to me.” She looked up, met Aziraphale’s uncertain eyes and gave her hip a gentle squeeze. “Please?”

Aziraphale had gone just a bit fidgety. “I don’t know that I’d… I don’t think I’ll be very good at that, dear.”

Crowley dug her nose into Aziraphale’s shirt, hiding her face. “I like hearing you,” she mumbled into her tummy. “Like listening to you talk.”

“That’s very sweet, darling, but…” Aziraphale hesitated again. Suddenly dead set on hearing this poem from her angel’s lips, Crowley started pressing bribery in the form of kisses up Aziraphale’s tummy and chest. “Oh, stop that.” She moved to push Crowley away, but wound up with her hand resting in her hair instead. Crowley hummed happily and pressed her head up against Aziraphale’s palm. “Fine, fine,” Aziraphale caved when Crowley gave her an imploring look while nuzzling into her hand. She opened her book again, and Crowley grinned in victory and cuddled close.

Aziraphale only fidgeted for another moment before she settled back against the cushions with her arm slung around Crowley’s back. She cleared her throat, hesitated, then melted down into the sofa as Crowley snaked an arm around her waist and squeezed just right to calm her down. Six thousand years of barely touching each other, but they’d only taken a few months to learn each others’ bodies nearly better than their own.

Aziraphale’s free hand drifted into Crowley’s hair again, and with a deep breath the demon could feel, she started to read aloud.

“Shy one, shy one,  
Shy one of my heart,”

" Wait.  _ What?” _

“Crowley…” Aziraphale whined.

The demon sat up in consternation. “What is this? I am not  _ shy, _ angel _.” _

Aziraphale glared at her. “You asked me to read, now you have to let me read.”

“Are you sure this is the right poem?” Crowley asked, reaching for the book.

_ “Yes!” _ Aziraphale smacked her hand away. “Now lie down and listen already, or I swear I’ll never read anything to you again.”

Crowley gave one last appropriately severe groan, then collapsed against Aziraphale’s chest.  _ “Fiiiiine,” _ she grumbled.

_ “Thank _ you,” Aziraphale sniffed. She picked up the book again.

“Shy one, shy one,  
Shy one of my heart,  
She moves in the firelight  
Pensively apart.”

Aziraphale’s fingers trailed along the back of Crowley’s neck and dipped into her hair, cupping the back of her skull and holding her close. Her voice was a warm alto, gentle in Crowley’s ears and comforting against her cheek.

“She carries in the dishes,  
And lays them in a row.  
To an isle in the water  
With her would I go.

“She carries in the candles,  
And lights the curtained room,  
Shy in the doorway  
And shy in the gloom;”

Crowley traced a finger over Aziraphale’s hip, drawing the hem of her shirt up and down. The lamp behind Aziraphale’s head was just enough for her to read by, leaving the rest of the living room dim and soft with shadows. In the morning, the sun would drift in and soften the room differently, and likely find them still cuddled up on the sofa. There was a bed upstairs, and they slept there too, sometimes, but there was something special in falling asleep together downstairs, crowded together on a sofa only just big enough to fit them both.

“And shy as a rabbit,  
Helpful and shy.  
To an isle in the water  
With her would I fly.”

The words left a rhythm hanging in the air, balanced and almost waiting for more to follow. Crowley didn’t realize the poem was over until Aziraphale sighed and closed the book. “Nothing especially amazing, really. Not even all that good, maybe, but I think I like it anyway.” She shifted, reaching up to fiddle with her collar, but Crowley grabbed her hand before she could work herself up.

“I liked it,” she said softly. “It’s nice.”

It wasn’t possible to see in the dim light, but Crowley knew Aziraphale’s face too perfectly to miss that she was blushing. “I do like it rather a lot,” she admitted. “It’s sweet, I think.”

“Mhm,” Crowley agreed. Lacing their fingers together, she tucked their joined hands under her chin against Aziraphale’s chest. “So. ‘To an isle in the water,’ hmm?”

Aziraphale chuckled and brushed Crowley’s hair back to kiss her forehead tenderly. “To any isle in any water, my dear,” she said softly. “Anywhere at all.”

And with Aziraphale’s arms around her back and Aziraphale’s heartbeat in her ear, Crowley drifted asleep. Aziraphale held her, and combed gently through her hair, and when she was sure her wife was fast asleep against her chest, she sat up just enough to release her wings. Draping one over Crowley’s back and the other balanced carefully over their heads, Aziraphale settled into the cushions and snapped off the light. She soon fell asleep, too, as she only ever did with her love safe and sleeping in her arms.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell with me on tumblr [over here!](https://one-with-the-floor.tumblr.com/)


End file.
